Promised Soul

by Sandra J. Jackson

  “I kissed her.”

  “You what?” Aaron said loudly.

  “I know, I know.” Peter's ears burned, he did not need nor want chastising from his friend.

  “So what did she do?” Aaron's tone was back to normal.

  “She jumped away, and told me she'd just ended a rather serious relationship and wasn't looking for another one just yet.”

  “Ah!”

  Peter knew his friend well enough to know that had Aaron not been going through a bit of a rough spot, he would be rebuking him, especially since Krista was a client.

  “Yeah, ah!” Peter repeated.

  “So I suppose you would really like for me to be back in the next few days?”

  “Yeah well, I'm a little torn about that. I'd like to see her again, but I don't want it to be strange. If I don't see her again, I don't want her to think I'm avoiding her.” Peter paced back to the living room and flopped back down on his couch.

  “She's expecting me anyway, so you won't be avoiding her. I'm sure you'll meet again, she's here for quite a bit of time.” Aaron sounded reassuring.

  Peter stretched and yawned. “I've got to go; I can barely keep my eyes open anymore.” He rubbed at his watering eyes.

  “Yeah, me too,” Aaron yawned back. “We must be getting old, it's only half past ten,” he laughed. “Have a good night and see you soon.”

  “Same to you.” Peter hung up the phone. He stretched again and wearily headed off for bed, crawling under the cool sheets.

  His lips tingled briefly at the memory of his kiss, and he slipped easily out of consciousness, a smile on his face.

  Twenty-Four

  “Do you trust me?” Thomas whispered.

  Mary lay on her back staring up at the millions of stars twinkling overhead. She turned her head and faced Thomas. He was lying on his side, propped up on his right hand while his left traced lightly up and down her stomach, her skin prickled and she shivered slightly. “You're giving me the chills.”

  “That's not an answer to my question.” Thomas replied flatly.

  “I'm sorry. What was your question?” Mary turned and looked back up at the stars again mesmerized by their twinkling.

  “I asked if you trusted me.”

  Mary turned, facing him again. The full moon was high and lit up the meadow. Mary could just make out his face in the moonlight; he was sullen. She reached up and laced her fingers with his, mostly to help make her point, but it also resulted in him being unable to continue tickling her; a sensation she was growing tired of feeling.

  “Of course, I trust you. Do you think I would be out here with you in the middle of the night if I didn't?”

  Thomas lay quiet and unmoving, reflecting on Mary's question. Then he unlaced his fingers with hers and rolled over onto his back, his features clearly visible in the moonlight. Mary desired to say something more but thought better of it. Instead, she remained quiet, awaiting his answer.

  “I suppose trust isn't the right word.” Thomas finally said.

  For a moment, they laid in silence, the only sound coming from the chirping crickets and waves crashing in the distance.

  “Why do you hide me from everyone?” Thomas broke the silence once more.

  “I don't hide you,” Mary said, slightly annoyed.

  “Don't you? You haven't introduced me to your parents and when your friends draw near, you're full of excuses as to why you must go. It seems as though this meadow is the only place where we can be together. I know it's only been a few short months, but I would think by now…”

  Mary cut him short. “It's not a matter of trust; you're a perfectly wonderful man. It's just that…” Mary paused. She didn't know quite how to put it.

  “What then?” Thomas demanded sitting up and drawing his knees to his body, and then resting his chin upon them.

  Mary sat up, too, curling her legs behind her and supporting herself on one hand while she reached over with the other and placed it on Thomas's leg. She took a deep breath before speaking. “I'm afraid my parents won't approve.”

  Thomas looked at her. Mary couldn't quite make out his features as the moon shone down behind him casting shadows across his face, but she heard the disbelief in his voice. “What is there about me that needs approval?” he asked. Before Mary could explain further, Thomas continued. “I work hard, I can read and write, my father's farm is doing well enough…”

  “But that's just it, don't you see?” Mary interrupted, “it's your father's farm. You're 25 years old and still living on your father's farm with nothing of your own. You don't even know if you want to be a farmer.” Mary tried to be gentle with her words but knew she had failed when he pulled his leg out from under her hand.

  “Do you want me to go in to mining and work for your father – is that it, working long, dirty hours. Have you not noticed that mining isn't exactly very prosperous these days, not to mention those men don't seem to live very long after spending years underground?” Thomas spat back, he was already sorry at the mention of a shorter lifespan.

  Mary knew he was right of course, working in the mines was never a job to envy, but it supported her family, her father was the mine manager. Mary spoke more gently. “Thomas I don't want you to be a miner. I don't care what you are as long as we're together. I'm happy with you and doubt I could ever be happier. My family only wants to make sure that whomever I marry, he will be able to provide for me, that's all.” She reached out her hand and gently touched his leg, Thomas didn't pull back.

  “I can provide for you.” Thomas said, lifting his chin from his knees. “I will provide and care for you no matter how. You believe me – don't you?” He sounded childlike.

  Mary sat up on her knees and drew closer to him. She rested her hands on the top of Thomas's knees as he looked up at her. “Fine,” she said, “come to my home tomorrow, I'll introduce you to my family. Now, please stop talking.” Mary reached up gently and placed her hands on Thomas's chest pushing him backward.

  Thomas caught her arms and pulled her down on top of him as he lay back on the ground. Mary could hear his heart beating as she rested her head on his chest, and Thomas held her in his arms staring up at the night sky. The sound of the rhythmic beating slowly hypnotized her, and she closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.

  The sound of his heartbeat in my ear was soothing as I listened to its rhythmic beat, slow and steady. I smiled and bent my outstretched arm, wanting to feel his chest under my hand. My left hand slowly moved up over his shirt, searching for the buttons that held it together. “I love you, Thomas,” I whispered, still half asleep.

  Slowly I began to regain consciousness, realizing it was my own heartbeat bouncing off the mattress and into my ear, the revelation caused me to open my eyes. My left hand stilled as the shirt I was rubbing suddenly became a sheet. My right arm prickled, trapped underneath me. When it was free, my hand felt five times its normal size. I rolled over and sat up, shaking my arm, trying to bring life back into it. Finally, the prickles subsided and memories of my dream came back to me, which resulted in my need to write everything down.

  Reaching over to the nightstand where the notebook casually rested from the night before, I flipped it open to where the pen held my last entry. My back-to-normal hand picked up the pen and diligently wrote out the memories from my dream, knowing it wouldn't soon be forgotten. It was now very evident that my dreams didn't occur in any specific order. However, it seemed as though certain events of the day triggered particular dreams.

  When my notes were completed, I closed the notebook, set it back on the nightstand, and climbed out of bed. My feet landed on a cool softness that turned out to be my pillow. Tossing it back in its rightful place, I snatched my robe from the hook on the back of the door and padded out into the kitchen.

  Each morning it was as if my body was on autopilot, first putting two slices of bread in the toaster and then brewing a cup of coffee. I stared out the kitchen window and looked out over the garden below; coffee
in the garden seemed a good idea.

  Before long, my toast was finished and with coffee in hand, I headed out the back kitchen door and down the stairs to the garden. Sunlight greeted me as I stepped out from the shadow of the house and sat on a weathered, stone bench already warmed by the sun. The bees and butterflies visited the flowers around me, and I wondered if they ever dreamed.

  With each dream, my mind convinced me more that the dreams were memories, and yet to say it aloud or even to admit that to myself seemed crazy. Suddenly, an idea came to mind. I needed one final bit of reassurance and knew just where I was going to find it.

  “Well, it seems like now is a good time.” I drained the last drops of coffee from my mug. Several minutes passed as I sat on the bench procrastinating, before finally rising and heading back up the stairs.

  Without further hesitation, I dressed quickly and pulled my hair up into a ponytail, grabbed my purse and headed out the door. My deep desire for answers was the driving force behind my quest, the exact plan unclear.

  It wasn't a very long walk and in no time my feet brought me to the small cottage with the sign in the front lawn. I had seen the house yesterday when walking into town and gave it just a passing glance, at the time it was the last place I wanted to go.

  I stepped purposefully up the walk, and just as my hand curled, preparing to knock, the door swung open. The small figure of an elderly woman stared up at me with an almost toothless grin.

  “'Ello my dear, I've been expecting ye, won't ye come in.” She smiled and stepped back, waving me in with a frail hand.

  Oddly enough, I wasn't frightened and stepped into the dark entrance hall of the old woman's home, the door clicking behind me.

  “When you said expecting…” I hesitated, following her down a dimly lit hall and stopping at a closed door at the end.

  “'T'is only that I knew ye were on ye're way here, but I had to be patient aye?”

  She opened the door to an office, and I was happy for the sunlight that streamed through the window since the rest of the house looked dark and almost ominous.

  The large office had floor to ceiling bookcases along all four walls. Even the wall with the window right in the middle of it, had bookcases along each side; each of the bookcases filled with a multitude of books.

  The old woman took her spot at her desk and motioned for me to sit in the chair across from her. I was surprised to see a monitor, though old, for she surely didn't look as though she'd be the type to even own a computer.

  Sitting in the chair, I scanned the room and the bookcases. My eyes perused over the vast assortment of titles. Romance novels, children's fairy tales, biographies, and even books on the occult lined the shelves. I didn't think there was a single genre missing.

  “Any titles you find interesting?” she asked as she busily searched the drawers of her desk.

  “Well, I…” I stopped when she pulled a ragged looking book from one of the drawers and set it on the desk in front of me.

  “What about this one then, I'm sure this will pique ye're interest.” She smiled as she slowly pushed the book toward me. I felt small prickles trail up my back and stop as it reached the top of my head. My eyes locked on the cover too afraid to pick it up. “Go ahead, love.” The old woman gently patted the top of my hand encouragingly. “It won't bite ye.”

  Slowly I raised the book and stared at its title 'Promised Soul'. The old woman watched me carefully as I picked it up. “I don't understand.” I stared at her.

  “Ye have questions, don't ye?”

  “I do, but…” I waved toward the book I had set back down on the desk.

  She smiled at me knowingly. “Ah well, I saw ye yesterday when ye walked by, and I knew then ye were troubled, and ye'd be comin' by.”

  “Yes, well I do have questions but I –”

  The old woman held up her hand and interrupted me. She closed her eyes. “Ye've been having some troublesome dreams.”

  “Y-yes.” My voice quivered, my hands clenched together.

  “T'wasn't a question.” She looked at me with piercing blue almost white eyes.

  “Sorry.”

  She closed her eyes again. “Ye are not mad, but ye need to know that ye and the one ye dream of are one-and-the-same.”

  It really didn't come as a big surprise when the old woman spoke the truth aloud, I already knew deep down; Ruth had eluded to it. In fact, it was a relief. Finally, I could admit it to myself; Mary and I were the same. But why? Why now did she inhabit my dreams and sometimes, it felt, even my thoughts.

  “There's a reason she's coming to ye.” The old woman said, seemingly reading my thoughts. “Ye must complete her circle.”

  “I don't understand, what do you mean?” I looked at the old woman. Even though she'd clarified what admittedly my mind and body felt, there was still confusion on my part about what to do about it.

  “Take the book and read it.” She pushed it toward me. “It may help. Bring it back when ye're finished. There's someone else who'll need it soon.” She winked.

  My eyes narrowed. I was about to ask who, when the old woman stood up from her desk and headed toward the door.

  “Ye can see ye'reself out.” She stopped and turned to face me. “One more thing, listen to ye're dreams, Mary will show ye what she desires.”

  Twenty-Five

  The walk back to my apartment was unmemorable. My thoughts clouded, and it seemed my body and mind were completely different entities acting independently of each other, while my eyes only observed. Only two things stood out in my mind, walking out of the old woman's house and walking back into my apartment, every moment in between was lost.

  My hand threw the book down on the kitchen counter and grabbed a can of pop from the fridge, my eyes watched every move. Still disconnected, my body made its way into the living room, while my mind sifted through the evidence – cataloguing, disposing, and storing. My body worked on autopilot, my eyes an innocent bystander to her actions as they watched my hand place the can on the coffee table and my body flung herself down on the couch.

  So… I had lived before – now what? “I was Mary.” Saying it aloud didn't help me overcome the strangeness of it all.

  All those weeks, and in fact perhaps all my life, there had been a feeling that there was something more to my dreams. Finding out that those feelings were valid didn't make it any easier to accept.

  If I was going to move on – go back to just being me – I had to accept that there was a mission to complete and in order for that to happen, research into Mary's life was necessary. Sadly, there wasn't much to go on. Furthermore, spending an inordinate amount of time trying to research who I had once been, given the limited amount of information I had, seemed impossible. Living with what I already knew was easier, but I couldn't get over that nagging feeling, tugging at me. What were the dreams telling me or not telling me? The decision was final. I needed to sort through the information I had chronicled, listing only the vital clues, but first I was taking a shower.

  My body felt more like a whole organism again. My eyes were no longer spectators, watching my body perform. My mind was no longer sifting through episodic memories. The hot water relaxed me, and I began to get lost in its warmth – I was putting off what I needed to do. Finally, I shook myself free from the bonds of procrastination and climbed out of the shower.

  When I was re-dressed, I grabbed the notebook from the nightstand, but hesitated before heading out the bedroom door. Is this really necessary?

  Yes. A voice responded from within, startling me. I shook my head, clearing my mind and proceeded toward the desk, determined to find answers and no thoughts or hesitations were going to stop me.

  When the computer was up and running, I started by typing up all the strange occurrences and dreams that had transpired over the past few weeks in chronological order, after that – I was stuck.

  At some point, while I was staring blankly at the screen, the thought occurred to me to put down all my fears.
I began with anything to do with the Titanic, or any shipwreck for that matter and moved on from there. It soon became quite clear that all my fears related to each other in one form or another; such as being cold, drowning, swimming, boats – the ocean. A torrent of information came to mind, and I typed it all out.

  Ocean Queen – unexpectedly, I remembered probably the most important detail given to me yet. It was during my session with the psychic medium, Ruth. She had mentioned, or rather the spirit that she was speaking with had mentioned, something about the Ocean Queen.

  I reread my lists attempting to put the pieces of the puzzle together. After several minutes, I formed two conclusions. One, I had some inkling about how Mary had possibly died, and two, I had no idea where any of it was leading me, if in fact, it was leading me anywhere at all.

  With the memory of the words Ocean Queen still fresh in my mind, I called up my favourite search engine and stared at the flashing prompt. Part of me so desperately wanted to know, while another part almost begged me to drop the whole thing. The two sides wrestled with each other for what seemed a long time until finally the winner guided my hands on the key board. It was quick and effortless. When the list of possibilities came up on the screen, it was the second entry that caught my attention, and it looked as though it pointed me in the right direction. Uncertain at first, my hand eventually moved the mouse and guided the cursor over the link.

  “Well I've already gone this far, might as well go on.” I clicked.

  My eyes skimmed over the short paragraph about the Ocean Queen. Where she left from and how she was lost at sea. The memory from my dream of Mary slipping through a hole in the side of a ship came back full force and I closed my eyes, wanting to shut it out, instead it became more vivid. I shivered, tiny prickles traveled up and down my spine. When it was over, I opened my eyes again and scrolled down the page. A list appeared of the crew and passengers from the ship. It was almost too much to bear. I carefully skimmed over the names and searched for ones that were familiar. It didn't take long, for at the bottom of the first column of names were the names from my dreams; Charles, Ann, Mary, John and Sarah and beside them a bit further to the right, their ages; Mary was 17.